


Kintsugi

by CavalierWolfe



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rescue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierWolfe/pseuds/CavalierWolfe
Summary: The world is not as we know it. Jean Kirstein and Marco Bott joined the Military Police after graduation, and are on their first true assignment; the raid of a brothel where enslaved women are forced to serve vile customers. Jeankasa content. Written for someone who means a lot to me. You know who you are.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

It didn't look like much. That is to say, it didn't look like the soldier imagined it to look when he got the mission briefing. No rotten windowsills with cracked panes and flaking paint. No iron gates topped with spikes and barred with a chunky lock. In fact in most respects it appeared normal, even pleasant. For a moment he fancied the brickwork looked like his own home in Trost, and quickly shut down the thought before any more comparisons could be drawn. 

''What's wrong?'' Asked the soldier's friend. His classmate, squad-mate and confidant. ''you're staring.'' 

''Nothing''

''Can't fool me. I know you, remember? You were thinking about how normal it looks weren't you?'' The friend had a soft voice, measured and understanding. The kind of voice that made people confide in him, feel comfortable talking to him. It had certainly worked for the soldier. They had been close for years, since starting training together. The soldier's shock must have shown on his face, for the friend laughed. 

''Alright....Damnit, fine. Guess I was. I expected...I dunno, something a bit more sinister?'' 

The friend opened his mouth to answer, but a deeper voice cut in first. Older, confident. ''You know what goes on in that house, trooper. If you were a customer, would you want to do your business surrounded by broken furniture and peeling paint?''

The two young troopers straightened. They clasped their carbines across their chests, jackboots slamming together in crisp attention. They did not answer, perhaps assuming the question was rhetorical. The older man nodded, and waved them at ease. ''Are you ready to move on my signal?''

''Yes, Commander Dok!''

''Good. Now I know this is your first action, so remember what I told you. Stay behind the veterans. Keep your bayonets sheathed, and keep your fingers off the trigger. I don't expect either of you to fire those weapons in anger today, but if it comes to it I don't want you going off half cocked and shooting an innocent. It's happened before. People will run out at you. They will startle you, they'll scream. I cannot stress this enough. Fingers OFF the trigger. You will be jumpy.'' 

The two boys nodded. In truth they had heard such lectures a dozen times or more; the most recent example just that morning before they had left the barracks. They knew that the Commander was just trying to look out for them; they had been on foot patrol a couple of times before now, but this was their first actual Military Police operation, and he had decided to bring them along to give them a taste of trial by fire. Civil unrest had been growing in recent weeks and the Commander was trying to train up as many rookies into competent lawkeepers as he could. He expected that he would need them before long. These two were his current project in that regard. 

He looked over their heads towards the house they were staring at. A four story town house in a middle class neighbourhood, shadowed by yew trees of impressive scale that hid it from the rest of the street. They lent the home a classical, stately look, but they also gave it a vaguely sinister air now the soldier thought of it; the shadows of the trees cast the pleasant facade in a darkness that the suns rays could never penetrate. The Commander sighed through his nose. 

''In position boys. Wait for the whistle.'' He turned and strode off. The two hunkered down again behind the stone wall they were using as cover. At other angles of the house, more officers crept in pairs ever closer, carbines clasped in tight grips, faces grim and determined. The Commander himself drew a pistol from his belt, and pulled back the hammer with a click as he crouched down beside his adjutant. He pulled a silver whistle from his jacket pocket, and held it in his lips, his keen, hawklike eyes flicking to the various small squads of soldiers, checking they were in position. 

''Ready?'' asked the friend, cheerfully. 

''I feel sick. Oh God, I feel sick.'' Hissed the soldier. The friend chuckled. 

''Me too. But you'll do fine. Just remember what Commander Dok said. What he's said to us for weeks now.''

''I've forgotten already.'' Whispered the soldier. 

''Me too.'' Admitted the friend. 

FWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET

The Commander's whistle cut through the afternoon air like a blade through butter. The troopers charged. They vaulted walls, and struck open gates. They swarmed towards the house, their proud green and white unicorns flashing in the sun on their tunics. 

''Are you with me Jean?'' Asked the friend as he stood. 

''I'm with you, Marco!'' yelled back the soldier as they ran towards the house, the last pairing to do so, just as ordered. 

The first trooper to hit the front door was a beast of a man, and he roared as he barrelled into the wood, splintering it apart and swinging it back violently on its hinges. The Commander had forbidden the use of a shotgun to blast the lock open for fear of hitting an innocent life within. It didn't matter, the man forced an entrance as easily as through he had struck through a paper wall. The Commander was right behind him, his pistol cocked and ready as he entered. The boys heard his yell as they were halfway up the garden path. 

''MILITARY POLICE! EVERYBODY DOWN!'' 

Pandemonium. Of the dozen officers, six, including the boys, went through the ruined front door. Two broke the frontage windows with their carbines, and swung the muzzles into the rooms within. Screams. The screams of women, and the surprised, angry yells of men. The remaining four were around the back by now, to prevent any escape from the rear. 

Jean had never seen a house like this before. There was carpet. Not just rugs, but actual carpet, covering the whole of the floor. Some sort of wall decoration made of paper decorated in fancy patterns adorned every room. Gas lighting was everywhere. Jean's family, who were by no means poor, had gas lighting in their living room and nowhere else, and yet were the envy of the street for it. The opulence on display here was completely at odds with the pleasant yet unassuming facade. The boys held position in the main hallway, as they had been ordered that morning at the briefing; they blocked the entrance, their weapons held ready, barrels lightly scanning back and forth. Obediently, their fingers rested away from the triggers. This decision proved wise as, not a moment later, a rotund man with grey hair let out a loud yell of protest as he was shoved violently into the hallway. Marco almost jumped out of his skin, but retained discipline. A trooper shoved the man along with a growl of warning. A few seconds later, others emerged. They were all men, all in various states of dress, but otherwise the only thing that united them was their obvious affluence. Pomaded hair and moustaches, expensive suits, or silk underwear. The Commander emerged last of all, shoving his pistol into his belt. He seemed pleased; and well he might be, because the operation, as far as Jean could see, had been a complete success. Four ruffians who Jean took to be the establishment's guards, all of them clothed and clad in cheap wool and linen compared to the fine clothing of the customers, were being lead down the stairs by troopers who kept their carbines trained on them. They had been taken completely by surprise, and hadn't even had time to fire off a shot in defence. 

Upon seeing the Commander, the first man, the opulent figure with grey hair, turned to him with an indignant expression. 

''Commander Dok! What is the meaning of this?? This is my establishment! How dare you bring your ruffians here!'' 

The Commander arched an eyebrow, and strode through the doorway towards the man. With his long stride, it only took a heartbeat, and the man cringed instinctively. ''I take it then, you are claiming no ignorance of what goes on here?''

The man purpled, and stammered. ''I....that is....I mean....special dispensation....look...Don't you have any idea who I am??'' His voice, quailing at first, gradually grew in confidence, until the latter part of the statement was all but roared. The Commander smiled. 

''I know what you are. And unless you want to be knocked on your arse, you'll keep your mouth shut, my Lord Vasey.'' He nodded to the bull trooper, the man who had broken the door, to haul him to the wagon. ''Take him away. But be gentle. After all, don't you know who he is?'' 

The trooper grinned, and dragged the fat man away by the scruff of his collar. He only needed to use one hand and he made it look easy. The Commander watched the others as they were brought out, one by one. Processed, cuffed, and hauled into the back of the huge black wagon that had pulled up onto the cobbled street at the foot of the garden path. The four black horses pulling it were each draped in the livery of the Military Police, the proud white and green unicorn as clear on their caparisons as on the jackets of the troopers. By now, a crowd had gathered; pointing and staring at the humiliated, half naked men who were thrown into the back of the vehicle. Once the last was aboard, a trooper locked and bolted the heavy iron door, and slapped the wood of the carriage twice with the stock of his carbine. The driver clicked his tongue, and cracked his whip. The horses moved on, rumbling down the street with the carriage trailing in their wake.

''What happens now?'' Whispered Marco. Jean, engrossed in all he had seen, had momentarily forgotten where he was. He flushed, and grinned. ''Well, I guess that's it right? Bad guys arrested, back home now for the debrief?'' 

''But....well....I mean...I heard women. You know what kind of place this is. You heard them screaming as we went in, right? But I didn't see any come outside!''

Jean blinked, and frowned. That was indeed strange. So strange in fact that he considered asking the Commander about it, but was prevented from doing so by the arrival of another carriage. This one was not quite as big and ugly as the first, and was painted pure white as opposed to menacing black. It's horses were of variable quality of breed, and of different colours, as if the owners of the carriage were not especially concerned with having four matching beasts; but all four looked well fed and healthy despite how mismatched they looked. The painted symbol of Wall Rose, of the delicately crowned woman in silhouette, graced the side of this carriage. The Commander jogged to the door, and pulled it open. One by one he held his hand up for four women, each clad in long cotton robes and elbow length surgical gloves, stepped downwards. Their hair was neatly pinned back in buns or neat queues, and over their robes each wore a starched, pristine pinafore. Though all four were of varying ages and looks, they all had one thing in common; their eyes bore the kind of calm and self assured demeanour that only comes with a deep religious fervour. 

''Thank you, Commander Dok.'' Said the final one as she was helped down the steps of the carriage. She seemed the oldest, with dark chestnut hair going slightly to grey, and wrinkles around her kindly blue eyes. 

''We have, we believe, made it safe for you Sister. My men will conduct one final sweep just to make sure, but the girls are all yours.'' 

''Have they been terribly mistreated?'' 

''I....well...As you know, Sister, some wounds don't necessarily show on the outside.'' 

''All too true. All too true.'' She sighed gently, and placed her hand on his bicep. ''You have done a good thing today, my son. A truly wonderful thing. Do not let your heart be heavy. For the world is now slightly better than it was yesterday, thanks to you and your soldiers.'' 

Nile smiled slightly. He nodded, to accept the basic truth of the statement, and turned to his troopers. 

''Men! Well done. I am pleased with you. We will be performing one final sweep of the house. Sister Anastacia and her assistants will be attending to the innocents within. Do not interfere with them or attempt to speak to the innocents in any way. If a sister asks for your assistance, you are to assist. Clear?'' 

''Clear!'' Yelled Jean.

''Clear!'' Yelled Marco and everybody else. The two boys exchanged a look. They hadn't even considered this. To them it had seemed like a fairly simple operation; remove the bad guys, rescue the innocents. With the appearance of the sisters, the full weight of what had gone on in this pleasant looking house became apparent to them once more, and both felt, for a moment at least, perversely ashamed. 

Jean was bored. He hated to admit it to himself, but he was. After the adrenaline rush of the assault, and the joy of seeing the scumbags who frequented this place brought to justice, he had been riding a high he wasn't sure he would come down from. Even the realisation of what the poor women who were kept here had been through had only dampened his spirits for a few minutes, because he knew, without a doubt, that he had contributed to something decent and noble here. He was proud. 

But now he was bored. 

The house was being searched, and thoroughly. Apparently, 'one final sweep' meant tear the place apart top to bottom, looking for any scrap of evidence, any piece of paper or personal belonging, that could help with a prosecution or even better, bring about more arrests. Police work, essentially. And God was he bored. What's worse was that, on the few times he'd come across Marco in the hallways, he seemed to be enjoying himself; playing detective clearly agreed with some more than others.  
Jean yawned, and ran a hand through his naturally scruffy hair as he headed back up the main staircase, his carbine on his shoulder. He wanted to be away from the ground floor living room, where he could hear the sisters, still talking with the girls. He was surprised they hadn't left yet. What had it been; two hours, three? He resolved to buy a pocket watch like the Commander's with his next wage packet. He grinned slightly to himself as he imagined going home, letting his parents see him in his uniform, see him with a watch. He coloured in excitement, imagining how proud his mother would be. She would burst into tears he bet. The thought gave him a burst of energy, and he quickened his step to get away from the soft voices, the gentle cajoling, the sobs. It was all very sad, of course it was...But he couldn't do anything about it could he? Best let the sisters get on with it. 

He took a sharp left turn into a bedroom he had only searched twice so far, and hadn't even kept count of how many times the others might have searched it. There was no particular order or pattern to their search, they were merely told to do it. So they did. And now, he looked around again. The same four poster bed; sheets pulled back in a tousle. The same armoire, doors flung open, various pieces of erotic clothing scattered around on the floor. Oh how he had coloured when he first saw these garments an hour ago. How he sniggered to imagine Marco fainting at the sight of them; let alone the riding crop he found amongst them. All very amusing, the first time. The second time he searched the pile, the novelty had swiftly worn off. Now, he looked at the clothing with something approaching disgust. His lip curled as he imagined these garments worn by the collection of sobbing and frightened girls on the ground floor. How they would have been forced to wear them, how the crop would have been used....

He shook his head to clear it. Took several deep breaths. Don't get involved; don't make it personal. That was what he always promised himself, and whats more, the same thing was said by the senior officers of the regiment. It was a path to self destruction. A police officer that got invested would swiftly become depressed, angry, and violent. It had happened before of course, more times than anyone could count. In that moment Jean was struck with a sudden and profound admiration for Commander Dok. How the man clearly cared enough to bring the sisters here to help the women, yet managed somehow to remain professional, and good at his job. He decided that he could do far worse than to turn out like him. 

''No wonder he always looks so tired though...'' He murmured to himself, and grounded his carbine. The butt of the weapon hit the floor with a soft thump, and he held the barrel with one hand as he rubbed his face with the other. He was feeling pretty tired himself come to that. He allowed himself a moment to lean back against the wall.

And promptly fell right through it. 

He hit the ground with a painful thud as the false partition span before his eyes. He saw into the room he had just unwittingly vacated for the briefest moment, before the springed mechanism gently spun the panel back into place. He scrambled to his feet, gripping his weapon tightly. He crunched the butt into his shoulder, and quickly turned around to scan the room. He was thankful then that he was issued with the carbine; the longer muskets he had used as part of training amongst the 104th would have been completely unwieldy here in this narrow house, and in this room in particular. 

And what a room it was. 

He had never seen anything like this before. Beneath his feet was a flooring of strange construction, sort of springy underfoot and fashioned from rushes and cloth. The walls, though clearly fake as they lead nowhere, were constructed of sliding panels made out of....was that paper? Something similar?  
A monstrous suit of antique armour was on a stand by the wall, its appearance so shocking that he pointed his weapon at it for longer than a moment. Its helmet was crested with curving brass horns, its face mask a snarling grimace of a daemonic visage. The rest of it was constructed from laquered wood knotted together with corded ropes, and across its lap was perched a strangely curved sword, so thin as to look almost brittle. He found he couldn't take his eyes off it, or the strange runic script that flowed across the breastplate in gold leaf. It was perhaps for this reason that he completely missed the figure on the low bed on the other side of the room, until she spoke. 

''Master?'' 

He jumped almost out of his skin, and the barrel of his weapon immediately slid across to point at the face of quite the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. His heart broke immediately to see her. 

She was clad in a long silk robe, tied at the waist with an elaborate bow. She perched on the bed with her legs beneath her, and her hands on her lap, gazing at him with eyes that knew neither love nor joy. Her face was painted porcelain white, to hide the bruises he instinctively knew were there. Her hair though....Her hair was the deepest black he had ever seen. It looked to him like liquid silk; he wanted to drown in it, to swim in it. He stared at her hair for what must have been five full seconds, before his eyes slid down to hers again, and the shame he had felt earlier was back in full force. He lowered his weapon in numb hands, revealing the redness of his face. 

''I....Pardon....Pardon me?'' He croaked. 

''Master? Is something wrong? I have heard a commotion outside....Although...I am sure it was nothing. How may I be of service to you today?'' She spoke the words as though reading from a script; there was no passion behind them. 

''I...I'm not.....I mean....Look...'' he gingerly stepped towards the bed. Her cold, lifeless eyes followed him with every step he took. He placed his weapon down on the strange flooring, and straightened. He grinned, in what he hoped was his most charming, relaxing manner, and she flinched back slightly. He quickly turned it off. ''I am not a master. The masters are gone. My name's Jean, and I'm with the Military Police. We're here to rescue you.''

Her reaction was not what he expected. There was no relief, or joy. Not even a basic lack of comprehension. Instead, her eyes narrowed, and then she slumped, defeated. 

''As you say, master. You have rescued me. You may do as you will with me, my hero.'' 

Her hands....so pale and delicate...raised to begin parting the sides of the silk robe, where an already indecent amount of cleavage was on show. She stopped, when he yelped in alarm. 

''It's not a game! I'm serious! God!'' He seemed in a full blown panic. His eyes were wide and guileless, and that gave her pause. She did not speak, however. Silence hung between them, heavy in the cramped space. 

''Like I said...my name's Jean, and I am with the Military Police.'' He cautiously sat down on the foot of the bed. It was low, much lower than ones he was used to, and his landing was odd and ungainly, his knees drawn up high due to the strange position. ''What's your name?'' 

Her sad eyes never left him. She didn't laugh at his awkward sitting position, nor was there any particular amount of hope in her voice. But her hands remained still, clutching her robe, making no further move to open it. When her lips next parted, her voice was soft and wary. 

''Mikasa. My name....is Mikasa.''


	2. Kintsugi - Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl took his breath away. But has he let his guard down too soon?

Mikasa. That was her name. He had never heard a name like it before; it flowed off the tongue like silk falling from a smooth wooden table. He swallowed, and grinned, in what he hoped was a more charming manner than the last time he had tried it. Either she was getting used to his face or he succeeded, because she didn't cringe this time. 

''My name's Jean.''

''You mentioned. Twice already.''

Shit. Well, that was that then. Another failure to look gallant. He frowned and looked down at his boots for a moment, idly kicking one leg to scuff the strange flooring. He felt the perverse need to get on his hands and knees and look closely at it. He managed to restrain himself, and looked back to the girl. 

''Well...like I said, I am with the Military Police. We're here to rescue the girls from this house. So....yeah! You should come with me and we'll get you out of here!'' He held out his hand to her, and she immediately flinched back from him. He lowered his hand and flushed guiltily. Strangely, she didn't seem outright terrified of him, as if fear was a concept that had deserted her long ago; but she flinched away from his advances of friendship and warmth as if he was about to strike her and it was only a matter of time. 

''To go where?'' she murmured without curiosity. 

''Uh....'' He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. ''I....well...Honestly I am not too sure. I mean...you'll be with the other girls, I guess, and go somewhere safe. Away from here though, thats for certain. Anything's gotta be better than this, right?''

She gave him a searching look, then sighed, and got to her feet. She was barefoot, and the matting beneath her toes gave a gentle creak as she stepped onto it. 

''It's fine. I don't need other women. I'll just go back home.''

''Home? Where's home?'' He frowned. 

''My parents....that is...my family's cabin....We....we lived in the woods. I'll just go back there.''

''I expect your parents will be happy to see you?'' He said it casually, just trying to put her at ease with conversation, but as soon as the words left his lips, he knew the answer she would give and the mistake he had made. 

''They're dead. The men came for me, and killed them to take me. I am exotic and rare, and other men pay a lot to have sex with me.'' 

He doubted his heart would have sunk further had she said all this through tears; but the casual dullness of her voice frayed at his soul beyond anything he'd yet experienced in his young life. He sat stunned for a moment, before he decided that, for better or worse, this was the conversation path they were now on. ''Well...I mean....Yeah I expect you can still go home. Which district was it in?'' 

''District?'' 

''….Well....um....Which wall then? Here in Rose? Sina?''

''Maria. We lived in the forests in Wall Maria.''

Well that was perfect. His stomach dropped like a stone to match his heart. Not only was her home gone, she had apparently lived such a life that she didn't even know about the fall of Maria all those years ago. Had her entire existence been this room? The men who came here to force themselves onto her? 

He took a deep breath, and was just wondering how he was going to explain this to her, when a sound from nearby – something knocking against a wall – drew his attention. He was about to ask her if she had heard it too, but this was unnecessary; her eyes were already gazing at the section of panel that was closest to the source of the sound.

''Do you get Mice up here?'' He asked. She snorted. He supposed it was a silly question; the establishment catered to what seemed like an exclusive clientele, and could probably stretch to some rat poison. ''Squirrels then...'' he murmured thoughtfully as he stood, awkwardly given the low height of the bed, and walked to the panel. He was grateful for the distraction, and reasoned that she might be too. He tapped on the flimsy wooden frame that held the paper in place. ''Why does it look like this? Why is the floor weird?''

''Tatami'' 

''Beg pardon?''

''The floor. It's called tatami.'' 

''Oh.'' He waited for more. Nothing came. He nodded, and exhaled through flapping lips. ''Well...nevermind all that! We need to get you-'' 

The paper gave way behind him with a noise like ripping fabric. He felt explosive pain at the back of his head, and his vision erupted in stars. 

Jem Cooper was not what you would call a man of broad skill set. He was no polymath. He could read, albeit just barely, and he was good with his fists, which had endeared him to certain criminal elements that were often in need of disposable muscle. Jem was not particularly tall; in fact he was a good half foot shorter than the boy he had just punched in the back of the head. But he was broad, and powerful. To him had fallen the job of guarding the take room, which was accessed via a similar hidden door to the one Jean had fallen through, in the kitchens. Up a narrow flight of stairs, to the second 'half' of the hidden room that contained Mikasa, separated by both the panel walls of her room, and some thick stage drapes to muffle sound and prevent the take room guard silhouette appearing through the panels and putting valuable customers off their game.  
As it happened, nobody had yet found the take room entrance, and Jem had possessed enough sense to keep silent throughout the raid he could hear happening below. As mentioned he was no genius, but he had swiftly decided that this situation could swiftly turn to his advantage; so long as he was not discovered. He stuffed his coat pockets with the days takings, the dirty money spent by dirtier men desperate to alleviate their sordid desires; it was not exactly a king's ransom, but it was certainly a lot more money than Jem had ever possessed before. He would have easily gotten away with it too, if he had kept quiet until everyone had left, waited for nightfall and slipped away with his pockets bulging. 

But Jem got greedy. 

He knew of the exotic girl in the partitioned room next door, and wanted her too. To use her, to sell her...both, he fancied...he was dimly aware of the fact that the money he could steal would make him comfortable for a while, but the girl he could steal could potentially make him wealthy for the rest of his life. And the trooper was going to take her away. He had rested almost silently with his ear to the frame, and had heard every word. 

Jean crashed to the floor hard, twisting his head aside at the last moment to avoid breaking his nose. He felt breathless, and he flopped like a fish, struggling to turn over onto his back, just as a heavy weight crashed atop him, and meaty hands wrapped around his throat, pre-emptively cutting off his yell so that it dissolved into nothing more than a moaning gurgle. 

''You die now. Nice and quiet, like.'' Hissed the man through broad yellow teeth as his powerful fingers squeezed around the teenager's neck. Jean's fists beat uselessly at Jem's rope cord arms. 

''LEAVE HIM ALONE!'' Screamed a voice that took Jem a moment to realise belonged to the girl on the bed. Stupid as it may seem to attempt to silence one person in a room with two people in it, Jem had not truly considered that the girl could even speak much at all. He thought she was simple, or broken, and had never heard her scream or cry in his months of work in this house. He was completely unaware that her tears had dried up long ago. 

The sound of it made his grip slacken, and his head shot up to regard the girl. He was confused, for only the briefest moment, brought to shock by the sudden noise; it was enough. The boy beneath him reached up, and jammed a thumb deep into Jem's left eye socket as hard as he could. 

Jean could barely see, could barely breathe. His panicked body beat uselessly at the weight above him. He was completely helpless. During training, he had been the best in the 104th with the use of the famed Omni-Directional Manoeuvre Gear; a punishing device that tested the limits of the users endurance and power. Nobody came away from it without improvements to their physicality, and Jean was no exception. He was proud of his body, of its strength and its agility. He had also been fairly adept at the hand to hand combat training, due in no small part to the extra tuition that Cadet Leonhardt could occasionally be bribed to provide with astute use of donuts.

None of that mattered. He was flailing like a fish beneath an older, stronger man who was slowly choking the life from him. His panicked brain fired rapidly, desperately hunting for a way to survive this, any way. Then the girl yelled. The grip relaxed. His vision, so much grey blur, cleared enough to see the face of the man above him as the grip slackened. When he popped the man's eyeball he felt no revulsion; only sweet, blissful elation as the man screamed in agony and released his tortured throat. He gasped for air, heaving in lungfuls between hacking coughs and erupting spittle, his hand slapping around beside him in a panic, hunting for his carbine. His fingers closed on the smooth wood of the stock as the girl passed it to him. Their eyes met; her own wide and fearful, his so shamefully desperate.  
''YOU LITTLE BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!'' 

Jean's head snapped back around to the man, who was stumbling to his feet, one hand clasped over his ruined eye socket, blood and jelly oozing between his fingers. The other eye was set in a pain maddened grimace, teeth bared in a snarl as he stumbled towards the prone soldier.

The barrel swung to face the man. Jean tried to pull the trigger.

Nothing happened. 

''Shit!'' he wailed in despair as he frantically tried to pull the hammer back completely from the half cock, the safety position where the trigger would never pull. But it was too late, the man was on him once more. The weapon was knocked aside with a swipe of one meaty fist, and a heavily shod foot crashed down onto Jean's ribs. He felt something crunch, and he would have screamed, had the air not been driven from him a second time in as many minutes. Again and again, the foot came down. Crunch, thump. Crunch, thump. 

''YOU RUINED MY EYE! YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT!'' Too pain maddened to think clearly or talk softly, Jem had completely given up, albeit unknowingly, of any chance of escape. Trooper voices began to yell throughout the house, calling for orders, for comrades, for instruction. Boots could be heard thundering up and down the stairs as people searched for the source of voices that came from no apparent room. 

Jean groaned and cried out as he was brutalised; attempting in futility to curl up into a ball to avoid the punishing blows. Through the pain of fracturing ribs he managed to turn his face to Mikasa, his eyes wet, his teeth clenched in purest agony, and hissed out a single word. 

''RUN!'' 

She had been staring, transfixed and completely at a loss. Terror; a terror she had never felt since the loss of her parents had overwhelmed her body. The return was an unwelcome one. She was terrified, not for herself but for her erstwhile rescuer being beaten to death on the floor. She wanted to save him. She didn't know how. She didn't....She couldn't....

The sword resting on the armour. Her eyes flashed to it. Her legs refused to move. 

''DIDN'T YOU...ACK! H....HEAR ME! R.....RUNNNNN!'' He screamed out. That jolted her into motion. She did run, her bare feet hammering on the springy matting as she ran to the sword. Her hands closed around the hilt, feeling the touch of cool wood and brass. She drew the long blade in a single, clumsy motion. The steel was old and rusty; it was here for decoration, and had not been regularly oiled and cleaned. It would serve. 

She did not wonder why it was that she instinctively knew that. Or that why her limbs began, slowly at first, to suffuse with a kind of...warmth? Her heart began to slow, and she saw things clearly. So clearly. She felt as if she was walking to the top of a steep hill; the end was in sight now. She could run down the other side. Just a bit further...She took a step towards the man, and raised her blade. 

The hidden door, the one Jean had originally fell through, exploded inwards. Commander Dok stepped through in a hunch, took the briefest moment to assess the situation, and then raised his pistol. 

The weapon barked in the confined space, so loud as to set ears ringing. Dirty grey smoke plumed upwards and filled the room as the assailant's body toppled sideways with a crash, quite dead against the floor. Jean twitched and gasped for breath, moaning weakly on each exhale. 

''Put that down.'' Murmured the Commander as he met Mikasa's eyes. He didn't check to see if she obeyed him, as he hurried to kneel beside his wounded recruit. Others were stepping into the room now. All in the same uniform, eyes wide with concern and surprise at the sights that greeted them. 

Her body shook. The crest of the hill, so close, receded. She was falling now, falling back the way she came, and her legs gave out from under her. She fell to her knees, the weapon dropping with a clatter and a bounce until it lay motionless a few feet away. 

She began to cry then. Great gasping, wracking sobs as the tears flowed freely for the first time in years. She was startled when a trembling hand curled around her fingers. She looked down to Jean, and saw his lips twisted in a pained smile. There was blood on his teeth. 

''It....it's OK....It's all....OK now. See? It's all OK....'' 

She stared at him with incredulity. An eternity passed. Her fingers trembled, and squeezed tightly around his, as she began to cry once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As you may have guessed, this is canon divergent, and Mikasa, it turns out, was never rescued. Why? Well you'll have to wait and see. Feedback welcome; as are commissions.


End file.
